


Pull Me Over the Line

by zenigashapon



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Rating will definitely change, background jiglup, jigen enabling his husband to be a clown
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:55:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27365386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenigashapon/pseuds/zenigashapon
Summary: Zenigata doesn't show for Lupin's latest heist. Lupin tracks him down, but he's deep in another case—so deep he has no interest in arresting Lupin. Has Zenigata dumped Lupin for another thief?
Relationships: Arsène Lupin III/Zenigata Kouichi
Comments: 5
Kudos: 42





	Pull Me Over the Line

**Author's Note:**

> Zenigata does not show up in the first chapter lmao. If I have to be patient then so do you.

It's a broad, windy day in the countryside just beyond the Amsterdam city limits. A perfect day to drive with the hood down—face to the sun, blood buzzing with adrenaline, a stolen Van Gogh propped in the seat behind them. Jigen leans out from behind the windshield, holding his hat on against the wind, and gives an earsplitting whoop that makes Lupin laugh and grab him by the belt to haul him back into the car. Jigen laughs too, lungs full of clean air and the smell of spring. It's days like this that remind him he loves the Mercedes for more than its spacious back seat.

He leans back, eyeing his partner in the rearview mirror. Lupin looks good: cheeks reddened by the brisk air, grip on the steering wheel firm and triumphant. His shoulders are still tight, though, and the hard gleam he gets in his eye before a job hasn't left him.

The job, as far as Jigen is concerned, was a peach: in and out, the Van Gogh swapped for a forgery and then trussed up in brown paper with a bar code sticker like it was a gift shop poster. Maybe it had been too easy for Lupin. Lupin hates when a job is too easy, or when a joke doesn't pay off. When he commissioned the forgery, he hadn't been able to resist getting the artist to hide a lewd message in the underpainting. He chortled all the way to the museum at the thought of Zenigata's face when he saw it. Then, the longer they worked without hearing a familiar shout behind them, the more grim and professional he had become—except for the way he kept looking over his shoulder as they left the museum, which was positively conspicuous.

Jigen is still winding down, laughing breathlessly. Lupin dials their latest burner phone one-handed. As it rings, and keeps ringing, his grin flags somewhat. Finally Fujiko picks up. "Fujiko-chan," he chirps, "guess what—" He is interrupted. "I know, I know—you—yes, I know." His other hand tightens on the steering wheel. "But listen—!"

In his distraction he slows the car, obeying a stop sign for the first time all day. Fujiko doesn't seem in a mood to listen. "Fujiko!" he yells, cutting her off. "We have the Van Gogh!"

Silence. Then Fujiko's voice, faintly: "The what?"

Lupin's conciliatory smile snaps like a rubber band. He scowls. "The Van Gogh! The cherry blossoms! The painting I stole for you in broad daylight because you said it would remind you of Japan!"

Ah, Jigen thinks, the familiar sound of Fujiko backtracking. For once, though, Lupin is not having it. "Well, _I_ think," he says, holding the cell phone right to his mouth, "you don't deserve to _have_ it!"

If it had been the old-fashioned car telephone they used to have, he would have slammed it into the receiver. Instead, he slaps the cell phone down in the center console and accelerates again.

Jigen waits the length of five freshly-tilled fields before he speaks. "What's eating you?"

"Nothing."

"Right. And you always tell Fujiko off like that when she jilts you."

"When she deserves it."

"Come on, Lupin." Jigen turns to spit the chewed stub of his cigarette out the side of the car. "What has your knickers in such a fuckin' knot, if it's not Fujiko? You mad 'cause _Pops_ stood you up?"

Lupin makes a particularly vicious turn. Jigen slides all the way to the outside of his seat. In the back, the painting falls over and bumps to the floor.

Once the wheels are back on the ground, Jigen guffaws. "You are!"

"I'm not," Lupin snaps.

"Sure."

Lupin mutters something into the wind.

"What was that?"

"I said, he could at least give a guy some notice! I could've dropped about five steps of that plan if I knew he wasn't gonna show."

"You're really mad!"

"I'm _not!_ "

"You're acting like you got stood up at the fucking prom, Lupin. You'll impress him next time, don't worry."

"It's not about that! Lupin squawks. "I just hate wasting a good plan."

"Sure." Jigen gives up on holding his hat down and places it carefully in the backseat beside the painting. There's no one else around, anyway. He kicks his feet up on the dashboard. Lupin gives his legs a half-hearted shove. Ignoring it, he settles in. "You two are always light on your feet, but your toes haven't touched the floor since Nice," he says. "You're all wound up over him."

Lupin is silent. Finally, he says, "For a guy who doesn't talk much, you sure get a firecracker in every now and then."

Jigen grins and roots in the ash tray for another half-smoked cigarette. "What can I say, I'm a real Bukowski."

-

That evening they hole up in a bed and breakfast outside Almelo, the type with no internet and no television (not counting the tiny, ancient one gathering dust on a high shelf in the dining room). News of the stolen Van Gogh won't reach here until tomorrow. Their room has a slanted ceiling, a quilt that smells faintly of cats, and a bowl of black liquorice on the bedside table. Lupin has no sooner shut the door behind them than set up a wifi hotspot for his laptop and folded himself into the cramped antique secretary desk in the corner. Jigen moves around the room behind him, sliding the flat paper-wrapped package—their only luggage—beneath the bed, propping the window open to the night air, and undressing to socks and shirtsleeves. He stands on a stool to take the batteries out of the fire alarm. Then he kicks his feet up and reclines against the headboard of the bed, facing Lupin's back in expectant silence. He lights a cigarette. Lupin, not turning, continues typing. He finishes the cigarette and begins another, listening to the crickets and the occasional frog outside.

Finally Lupin slaps the desk and jumps to his feet. "Got it!"

"Got what?"

"We're headed to Stockholm! There's a diamond necklace in the Tiffany's showroom with our names on it." Lupin bounces down on the bed beside him, nestling his head on the soft part of Jigen's stomach.

"Both our names? How'd they engrave the words that tiny?"

"Maybe just your name then. It'll look better on you anyway."

"Hm," Jigen says. "Hey, come up here."

He takes Lupin by the back of the neck and kisses him firmly, lingering—holds him poised there, and then tilts his head a fraction, barely anything. Lupin opens to him, melting closer, easy and sweet. Jigen smiles and pulls back a little to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"What?" says Lupin, low, in the small space between them.

"Go take a shower, you stink of flop sweat."

He rears back, outraged. "Of _what?_ I have never had stage fright in my life!"

"Oh, so it's just B.O. then."

When the shower turns on, Jigen leans across to the desk and hits the space bar on the laptop. It erases its own search history whenever it shuts down. Lupin hadn't shut it down. The screen shows a private page on the ICPO's database: Zenigata is indeed in Stockholm, although it doesn't list his current assignment.

Lacking an ash tray, Jigen stubs out his cigarette in the bowl of liquorice. He shuts the computer down and roots in a plastic shopping bag for his new toothbrush, still in its packaging. He made Lupin stop at a pharmacy for it on the way here; his old one was sacrificed to last-minute gadget construction this morning before the museum.


End file.
